The Well of Lost WoTs
by Ersatz
Summary: What is Rand129's secret? What is Mat fiddling with under his coat? Find out in the next limping instalment. Heck, Falme has never looked so good. Rated for pungent oaths and SECS.
1. The Overlook Oversight

**Author's Note:** Sorry to intrude but I feel this fic. needs a little preamble. It's a fanfiction based in the world of Jasper Fforde's Bookworld novels. Don't worry – you'll soon get into the swing of it. Basically, I thought it would be fun to introduce WoT to Fforde's world. Here's the result. Hope you enjoy. Oh, and I love reviews.

**Disclaimer:** To Robert Jordan, Stephen King, Michael Moorcock, Bram Stoker, J.K. Rowling, Catherine Cookson, Daphne du Maurier, Thomas Hardy, J R R Tolkien and any other authors I embarrassed in this chapter, I extend my profuse apologies. I make no profit from this and beg your humble forgiveness.

To Jasper Fforde, I would like to take the opportunity to congratulate your book release in the US (grovel grovel). I would also like to point out that I am Welsh and suing me would be like suing your own kith and kin. Also, I love your work and imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Oh, and sorry about all the mistakes.

Liberty Belle, Dirk Tensile, Neil Downe and GG1 are products of my inferior brain. Jherek Carnelian, unsurprisingly, is not (see above: Moorcock).

**A Brief History and Even Briefer Introduction to our Heroine:**

It is the not too distant future. Through means understood by only a secret few, the barrier between reality and fiction has blurred.

Strife sometimes surfaces when fictional characters, dissatisfied or jaded by their confines, find the means to escape their native prose – to PageRun.

A secret division known as Jurisfiction are the peacemakers of Bookworld, their tireless agents striving for the safety of Outlanders and literary creations alike.

This is the story of one such agent....

* * *

_Mum,_

_I'm in. Jurisfiction liked that interview tip you gave me. Thanks to pneumatic cleavage, I start Thursday._

_No more SpecOps; am most excited. Can hear boss coming now with new partner (partner!)_

_Got to dash – about to get briefed on first assignment._

_Signed,_

_Jurisfiction Agent Liberty Belle (got a nice ring to it. Ha ha)_

_P.S._ _Thanks for the muffins. Blueberry next time, eh?_

_Libby xx_

My mother framed that letter. It's still there, mouldering in an artexed corridor (below a shopping channel print of Vegas-years Elvis and a commemorative plate of Princess Di).

Two days after I sent it, my partner was killed.

No, not my fault, but as good as. A first-rate agent watches their partners back. Unfortunately - for him anyway - I was too busy watching his arse.

**Chapter One – The Overlook Oversight**

'_It wasn't my fault. Not really. As far as we knew, Torrance was the enemy and I....well, I was distracted. Who wouldn't be? The snake was wrapped around my bloody throat. What? Oh, fire-hose – whatever. Anyway, it was my first case. Shit, what kind of idiot sends a rookie into a bloody _King_ book anyway?'_

**_An Overview of the Overlook Oversight - Transcript of Agent Liberty Belle._**

* * *

'You ready?' 

I dredged a smile - it felt pale and watery as the snowy landscape – but Tensile had already shucked free of the jeep.

I threw a glance to the back seat. Wendy and Danny Torrance were huddled in a flump of blankets. They had fallen silent over an hour ago when I-Spy degenerated into a steady stream of 'I spy something beginning with S's.

'All right, there?' I asked cheerily. 'Don't worry, we're only out to stun him. He'll be right as rain in no time.'

'Tony says that's a crock.'

Tony's a little shit, I thought privately. I smiled at Danny. 'Don't worry. We're Jurisfiction.'

Danny began to cry.

I slid from the jeep and looked helplessly at Tensile who bent to the window to flash his GI-gimp grin.

'It'll be alright, kiddo. Me and your daddy are just going to have a little talk.'

Luckily, Danny couldn't see Tensile's hand patting his gun-belt.

My new partner was a complement to the rugged Colorado terrain; large, imposing. Manly. I felt myself blush and willed the chill to cool my cheeks. Snow crunched beneath out boots as we headed for the hotel, a sound like soft growls.

'What was the brief again?'

I fumbled for the manilla pocket. Paper spilled onto the snow. I blushed harder. 'Jack Torrance. Male, aged 36. Temporary caretaker for the cold season.'

Tensile grunted and peered at the sky. 'It's going to snow. Let's this freakshow on the road.'

He had a habit of doing that, snapping off memorable sound bytes. To Dirk Tensile, every day was a chance to be the next sub-literary hero.

Still, he had the physique for it, I mused as I tromped in his crusty footsteps. Then we rounded a snow-mound and all lechery puffed from my excited mind.

There, radiating menace in pulsing waves, a five-star, bling-beast of evil, was the Overlook Hotel.

Tensile was busy strapping all sorts of armaments to his honed physique. I nabbed a glimpse of a bastard crossbow, a shiny-bright grenade and something that looked suspiciously like a sawn-off Uzi.

'Are you sure all that's necessary? I thought the orders were to detain.'

Tensile squared his already geometric jaw. 'Have you dealt with a PageRunner before?'

'Well, no.'

'A _King_ PageRunner?'

'Erm.'

'Here,'

A hefty gun dropped into my hand.

'You'll need it.'

I wobbled after my partner, trying not to smirk at the connotations of a large Glock being slapped into my palm. As I simultaneously wrestled to keep my eyes from Tensile's implausibly taut rear, I realized I was nearing entendre overload.

Tensile stopped and pumped his weapon with a slick stroke.

I sniggered.

Tensile scowled. 'Let's roll.'

* * *

Fluffy snow had begun to fall by the time we reached the Overlook's doors. From within came a strange bellowing, the sort a niggly rhino might make if it stepped on something pointy. 

'Torrance,' my partner growled as we crouched on the steps. It seemed hammer-happy-Jack was Tensile's newest mortal foe.

I fumbled at my gun, eager for that buff butt to be front of me again – the view was a balm to my rookie nerves.

I was about to suggest toeing the door open for a sneaky peek when Tensile charged into the lobby, guns a-blaze.

'Shit.' I staggered forward, Glock at the ready.

By the time Tensile had relieved himself of some testosterone, the lobby looked like a cheap reproduction of a Seurat.

Tensile winked at me through the gun smoke. 'That should get his attention.'

'Gnnnnraaaargl!'

As the last, strangled consonant faded, pounding footsteps sounded overhead.

'Get back, Belle.' Tensile reloaded with practiced ease. 'This is between me and Torrance.'

'Eh? You'd never even heard of him befor—'

'Yeah.' Tensile found a cigar and lit it on the nib of his flame-thrower. 'Just me and old Jacky-boy,' he growled, sucking on the big Cuban (my entendre meter was climbing again). 'Mano a mano.'

I sighed and slumped next to a brass-nozzled fire-hose.

There were more grunts and rumbles from upstairs. Tensile was pacing like a caged wolf. With a flame-thrower. And a cigar in its muzzle....I scrapped the analogy.

'Torrance.'

The frantic sounds faded at Tensile's roar.

'Get down here you homicidal piece of shit!'

'Dnnnnrgaart!'

'_What_?'

'Grrrcaaaaanttgl-glinnnhng!'

'Right, that's it!'

Tensile roared up the stairs, tight buttocks working like two eggs in a handkerchief.

I sighed, though it was hardly audible in the gunfire. 'Just you and me, eh?' I asked of the fire-hose.

It ignored me.

'I mean, you look like a decent sort of bloke.' I edged closer. 'Is it _really_ that hard for a man to pay his partner a compliment?'

The fire hose declined to comment.

'After all, I can admit he's got a nice arse. Why can't he do the same? I do squats you know. My glutes are like iron. See?'

The fire hose nodded.

'Thank you. I'm glad _someone_ agrees with....'

The fire hose was still nodding, more vigorously now. I backed away as the brass nozzle fell from its cradle with a loud thump. Upstairs, the gunfire had stopped.

'Holy—'

'Shit!' Tensile came flying down the stairs, dragging a draggled man with wild eyes.

'Belle, move it! It's not Torrance! It's the—'

'Hotel?' I volunteered as the fire hose slinked about my neck. The brass was very cold.

Tensile all but booted a horrified Torrance through the door. 'Don't stop 'til you get to the jeep.'

Old Jack looked like he might keep going 'til he reached Wisconsin.

'Belle!' Tensile flung himself on his knees and began to wrestle with the hose. 'Hold on...just...hold...on.'

I had to appreciate the way he was throwing himself into the role.

With his square, sweating jaw in such proximity, I tried to look as winning as possible. My face was turning puce. Luckily, that would set off my regimental yellow gilet nicely.

'Damn it, Belle. Why you? Why now?'

Why what? I made a questioning mfftl sound.

He heaved a manly sob. 'Damn it, Liberty. I love you!'

I gave a demure 'gerwuffle.'

'I should have known the bastard would use you to hurt me.'

Yes, he was really enjoying himself now.

'Damn this hotel. Damn it to hell.'

Through my imminent loss of consciousness, I could hear a strange whooshing, the sound of too much pressure escaping too small a gap. It did not bode well.

I racked my fading brain. I had read _The Shining_ once, during my obligatory maudlin phase. The sound was tickling my familiarity button.

'Don't go towards the light, Liberty. Don't leave me (_sob!_) alone.'

I grunted and fumbled for my belt. The hose was really getting snug now. My fingers grazed cool steel, trembled, then grasped a knife hilt.

I brandished the blade at Tensile. Unfortunately, he was too lost in his grief to take much notice.

'Belle,' he was sobbing, all attempts to free me forgotten. 'My beautiful Belle.'

I poked the knife at his thigh.

'AowAAOW! What did you do that for?' I slapped the dagger into his palm and mimed a sawing motion. He got the hint.

Several moments later, and free of the murderous hose, I flittered my lashes expectantly.

'Agent Belle, there's something I should tell you.' Tensile dragged a deep breath. 'I love you too much to involve you in my world. My terrible, dangerous world.'

It was all suitably melodramatic. If not for the annoying hissing sound, I would have been crushed.

'Farewell, my lost love.' He planted a lingering kiss on my cheek. 'Let us never speak of this again.'

'Can we go now?'

My partner in work, not love, bounded to his feet. 'Let's rock.'

Hands clasped, we made good our flight from the demonic hotel. In the distance, I could see Torrance, still running like a startled quail. We were gaining on the former psychopath when Tensile let go of my hand. I spun to see him charging back towards the Overlook.

'Tensile, you nut! What're you doing?'

'Never leave a man behind.'

In the distant snow was an Uzi-shaped speck.

'It's a bloody gun.'

But my partner ran on still, legs pumping. At the gaping doors he lunged into an expert dive, rolled, and righted himself, trusty Uzi in fist. He started to run back to me, a big, mush-eating grin on his handsome face. And that was when the world exploded.

* * *

I missed the funeral. 

They buried Tensile – well, what they found of him - with his beloved Uzi. From what I gathered, it was quite a big affair.

The Overlook was refurbished for the new print editions although the blast seemed to have flambéed the resident evil. Apparently, King's supernatural opus is now 42 per cent less frightening. The fans are not pleased.

Needless to say, it was a fiasco.

My boss, Neil Downe, got the mother of all bollockings, Jack Torrance won an apology and Tensile's mother got an all-inclusive break in a Catherine Cookson of her choice.

I was left with a broken arm, a sea of blisters and a steady stream of visitors. And once the hospital niceties were over, the real fun began.

I got off lightly; whispering threats of demotion gave way to a formal warning, mainly due to the fact Tensile was a complete cretin with delusions of hero-dom and wholly unsuitable for a newbie like me.

After a few handshakes, I was bundled into a du Maurier novel to languish in deepest Cornwall. After several hundred cream-lathered scones, I was ready to return. Text Grand Central declined, politely of course, stating that I needed the recuperation. Then I managed to get involved with some rowdies at the Jamaica Inn - the authorities sagely decreed that my languishment was over.

It was four months after the Overlook Oversight (as the event came to be affectionately known) that Neil Downe, my ova-shaped superior, finally stepped into my poky office.

'Agent Belle. We have an assignment for you.'

I looked up from my over-stirred coffee. 'Jurisfiction?'

Neil nodded.

'PageRunner?'

Another nod.

Sweat popped onto my upper lip. 'Not King.'

'No, Belle. This one should be a little less spectacular.'

I eyed him warily as he sat down and offered a nervous smile. 'Have you ever heard of an Oliver Rigby Junior?'

* * *

'So, I'm going to get another partner?' 

'Absolutely. Can't let you go this one alone.'

Neil and I were walking through level 23 of the Great Library, home to such colossi as Wuthering Heights, War and Peace and Where's Waldo.

'What about my new mentor?'

After four months of limbo, I still hadn't been assigned one. My previous advisor had buggered off back to Middle Earth. Don't believe the bull – Hobbits are flighty. And susceptible to kleptomania. I lost count of the amount of stilettos the stumpy git pinched from me.

'Yes,' sighed Neil. 'It was a shame about Bilbo. Well, Bilbette.' We both studiously avoided one another's gaze. 'Let's just hope he'll be happy.'

'So, who is my new guru?'

'Well, actually—'

'Could this be _she_?' exclaimed a loud voice. 'Is this the creature who shall receive my humble tutelage?'

'You have got to be taking the piss.'

Neil gave me a muted smile as a slender young man bounded down the corridor.

'Miss Belle, it is beyond a pleasure to meet you,' the bouncy bloke exclaimed, grasping my hand and pumping it with vigour. His tall hat bobbed alarmingly. 'I was ill prepared for your loveliness. Mister Downe, glorious benefactor, why did you not tell me? This is a delight. An absolute delight!'

'Mister Carnelian.' I managed a smile as I extracted my hand. 'I believe Mister Downe and I have some matters to discuss before the arrangement becomes final.'

'Oh.' Mister Carnelian looked distinctly crestfallen. 'Are you not happy with the proposition? I had hoped...' He trailed into silence, blue-green carnation wilting on his lapel.

I hauled Neil aside. 'What are my options?'

'Alec d'Urberville,' Neil began, ticking off his fingers. 'Simon Renfield.'

I shuddered.

'Some Sirius fellow and our dear Jherek Carnelian here.'

'Sirius? Sirius Black?'

'I believe so.'

I pondered that for a bit. I had met Black once at a Halloween party. He had done his animus trick. I had been impressed – his nose had been very cold.

'Who will our favourite dandy end up with if not me?'

'Agent Force.'

'Gail?' I exclaimed. 'She'll ravage him.'

I turned to Mister Carnelian and his wilting flower. He looked very dapper, but then, on the few occasions I had seen him cavorting through the corridors, he usually did.

His waistcoat was a deep emerald today, his frock-coat and suit a fetching shade of claret. Only his top hat spoiled the ensemble, being of a rather virulent yellow. His pale, handsome face was downcast as his dark eyes fixed upon the carpet.

I sighed.

'Mister Carnelian, the discussion has found a resolution.' I held out my still thrumming hand. 'Say hello to your new student.'

'Oh, this is excellent news! My lady Belle, most beautiful of tolling implements, I promise to do my very best. I am versed in the nuances of moral fiber and virtue and can decipher many of your strange markings known as words. I feel we shall be marvelous together. Yes, most marvelous.'

I smiled as my hand took another righteous pummeling. 'Please Mister Carnelian, call me Libby.'

'Libby, how delightful! How wonderful and beautiful and....virtuous! You must call me Jherek. I insist.'

His ebullience seemed to be catching. I was smiling almost as foolishly as I retrieved my hand. He really was quite handsome.

'Oh, my dear Amelia,' Jherek declared to no one in particular, a rapt expression on his artfully pale face. 'How happy you will be that I have found symbiosis at last.'

'Amelia?'

'Why, my beloved wife, of course.'

Damn.

'Darling of the multiverse, luminescence of my heart. My beautiful Amelia.' He sighed.

I sighed.

'Why didn't you tell me he was married?' I hissed at Neil, who appeared to be enjoying himself immensely.

Neil just shrugged.

After depositing a kiss on my flushed hand, Jherek beamed at the pair of us.

'I confess I had hoped this would be the outcome. As such, I have brought just the fellow to substitute that Page-Bounder.'

'Page-_Runner_, Mister Carnelian?'

'Quite, Mister Downe.' Jherek waved at a young, red-headed fellow loitering by a third-rate Gandalf clone. 'May I introduce Master GG1.'

'Who's he?'

'A GG1.' Neil muttered. 'Generic Ginger, first class. Very useful.'

The young man shuffled forward, his ears pink. They clashed horribly with his red hair.

I pasted a smile. 'Hullo. Name's Agent Belle. Credentials?'

'Goblet of Fire,' piped GG1. 'Stand-in for the eldest Weasley boy after that incident with a Common Welsh Green.'

'Bit of a jump to schizophrenic maniac.' I thumbed my lip thoughtfully. 'Sure you're up to it?'

'I've been practicing all night.' GG1 a-hemmed hemmed dramatically. 'Light, Ilyena. Nooooo!'

Carnelian and I applauded as GG1 rose and dusted off his knees.

'Oh, that was simply splendid, my titian titan,' exclaimed Jherek.

The ginger boy grinned rather foolishly.

'Right,' announced Neil. 'We have our mission, our faux-Rand and our fearless tutor.'

At this, Carnelian threw me a dazzling grin.

'Are we all set?'

I checked my belt. The Uzi was nice and snug. 'Let's get this freak show on the road.'


	2. La Belle Dame sans Uzi

**Author's Note: **Greetings once again. To any unfortunates who read the last chapter I promised some WoT-based shenanigans and have thusly delivered. I hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I owe more apologies to poor Jasper Fforde and Michael Moorcock. A mention also for Emily Bronte and, yet again, papa Tolkien. I don't think I pillaged any other authors in this chapter, apart from Keats for the title. I am suitably riddled with remorse.

**Chapter Two - La Belle Dame sans Uzi**

_An author's worst nightmare. Imagine your character, your creation, acting upon their own desires. Then imagine that character is the saviour of your entire fictional world. According to Millon deFloss, the average author can expect a concentrated sense of abandonment at the PageRun of a minor C-class character. To lose an A-class is nothing short of a catastrophe._

_In short, Jordan must have been shitting bricks. _

**_Chasing the Dragon – Liberty Belle_**

* * *

'So, Rand al'Thor – ginger hero extraordinaire – has gone AWOL.' 

'Correct.'

'He's armed....'

'Of sorts,' agreed Neil.

'....and considered extremely dangerous.'

Neil nodded gravely.

Foremost at our minds at that moment, however, was not the PageRunning lunatic; we were on a quest to find my tutor.

To prevent a potential 'the' overload, it was standard practice for The Great Library to disregard the 'the' in any title beginning with the adverbial 'the'. Jordan's first instalment, _Eye of the World, The_, was therefore stored with its fellow E's on Level 5.

Being a pedantic soul, Mister Carnelian insisted that _The_ _Eye of the World_ should only ever be filed under T and had, in polite protest, secreted himself somewhere in the depths of Level 20. Rumour had it that he was loitering in a chamber behind _Tin-Tin_ and _Tristan und Isolde_. Confused? So were we.

'What about Jordan?' I asked my bemused boss, mainly by way of distraction. A trek through the annals of all known literature was no stroll in Thrushcross Grange and my rotund superior was sweating like a cellophaned egg.

'Thankfully,' puffed Neil. 'He's put al'Thor's absence down to a bad case of writer's block. Poor chap's confused, though. Even started churning out prequels.'

I whistled appreciatively. 'Bet the fans are happy with that.'

We shared a meaningful look.

'This must be it.' Neil stopped me before a door apparently made of cream silk. 'Mister Carnelian awaits.'

'What about my new partner?'

'All in good time, Agent Belle.'

I waiting for Neil to waddle 'round a corner before rapping on the taut silk.

Jherek greeted me with customary puppyish glee and I was heartened to see he had dressed especially for the occasion. Clad in a stunning blend of silks and satins of the most blinding white, he was truly a spectacle to behold. Even his face and hair had been powdered to a flawless ivory. He looked radiant, a sort of seventeenth century pimp.

'Is this not most exciting, Agent Belle?'

I actually nodded. Carnelian's enthusiasm was infectious. Like glandular fever.

Standing before the bright, glowing portal was a rapt GG1. The portal was humming slightly. It seemed to be paying tribute to ABBA, but Jherek was dubious.

'_Fernando_, you say? I think not, dearest Liberty,' said my tutor absently. He had a small sliver of silver in his palm and seemed intent on prodding it. 'The portal's delicate dolorousness is most reminiscent of the latter 23rd century's musical movement. The fourth Pre-Post-Raphael-Raphaelite dynasty, if I'm not much mistaken.'

I grunted. My stomach had begun to itch. If those were butterflies in there, they were of the carnivorous variety.

Rand V.2 was bouncing on his toes. 'I haven't felt this excited since my last visit. I played random Aiel no.73 in tSH, you know?'

'tSH?'

'The Shadow Rising. I almost _touched_ the Car'a'carn.' GG1 was aglow. 'Nearly got my head clopped off by a Fade, too.'

'Fascinating. Jherek, have you finished fiddling with that communicator yet?'

'Done and done, my vision of luminous literary loveliness.' Jherek pinned the pin above my breast.

We looked at each other for a moment.

'How does it work?' I prompted.

'An exact science of olfactory peristalses.'

I blinked.

'Sniff.' Jherek commanded as he jounced to hide behind a silken screen.

I sniffed.

'Perfect,' chimed Jherek's voice from the tiny communicator. 'My explorations revealed a disproportionately high level of emotive inhalatory activity in this realm, commonly displayed by the female occupants. A most peculiar phenomenon. My personal theorem is that the 'sniffing', if you will, engages some form of complex, pheromonally-charged mating ritual. Now, I merely need to discern if I can hear you. Would you be so kind as to form an experimental response, my subliminal Scheherezade?'

'I'm not the pheasant-plucker, I'm the pheasant-plucker's son, and I'll keep on phuc—'

'Capital!' Jherek leapt from behind the screen and hurried to me. 'It gives me great joy that, though I might not witness the adventure, I am but a mere nasal expulsion from my peerless pupil.'

'And if I need to turn it off?'

Jherek gave my freshly plaited hair a soft tug. 'This gesture is also indigenous to the native women. Therein lies the secret, my palatable papermite.'

'Ingenious.'

Jherek beamed.

'So all I have to do is pop in, deposit old Rand XP here and pop back out?'

'Absolutely. Our contact will do the rest.'

'Righto, though it seems a bit...'

Jherek gave me an enquiring look.

'...a bit like, well, donkey-work.' I finished, feeling a trifle churlish.

'How curious of you to say so, Agent Belle. The Council, in passing converse, mentioned something about a 'trained chimp' being sufficiently qualified for your mission. Tell me, parenthesis of piquancy, are our fauna friends common amongst the workfor...?'

Jherek trailed off when he saw my dour expression. His quickly turned to one of mortification.

'Agent Belle. Have I said something amiss?'

'It's quite all right, Jherek.' My voice sounded....wobbly. For some reason, Tensile's stupid, smiling face had popped up behind my retinas. 'It's not your fault.'

But Jherek would not be comforted. 'I am unworthy. If it pleases you, I will gladly serve my pennance at the End of Time. Oh, I am sure I have never felt this wretched! Not since I almost lost my yuek to that slaprevb in the fifty jhdkl centurflurgh.'

'Jherek, is your translator playing up again?'

'Why du yaou askquert?'

I rummaged in my pocket for a translation pill.

'Oh, most kind os yiue, frtonte—'

'Just take the pill.'

I trudged to the glowing portal. It was now humming something like a timid rendition of _Dancing Queen_. I felt a smidgen better at stepping into something with such obvious good taste.

'Dearest Liberty, passenger of prose, navigator of notoriety; are you ready?'

The translation pill obviously had its limits.

'I'll go first,' I muttered to my red-headed comrade.

GG1 nodded and gave me a cheesy grin. '_Dovienya!_'

'What?'

'Er, good luck.'

I stepped into the portal.

There was a sort of wobbly _pop!_ and I was suddenly bombarded with the smell of rolled hay and bee-bright blossoms. I sniffed appreciatively.

'Is there a problem, Agent Belle?' piped Jherek's voice through the communicator.

I glanced around, startled, until I remembered how the pin was operated. This communicator was going to be a pain in the arse. 'Sorry Jherek. Something tickled my nose there for a minute.'

I yanked my braid, winced, and watched as my Generic Ginger stepped through the portal.

'This is fantastic,' he enthused, wide eyes taking in the blue sky and evergreen studded glade. 'But where is our conta—?'

He sort of broke off at that point. He wasn't being rude. It's rather difficult to talk when half your head is lying at your feet.

I frowned as the ersatz-Rand crumpled, his lower, remaining lip locked in semicircle of surprise.

After a few seconds of fruitless gaping, I looked up.

It was big, hairy and smelled like a builder's cleavage. The towering creature snorted and menaced closer, its barbed sword clotted with GG1's first-rate generic blood.

Through my horror, I remembered the Uzi and scrabbled at my belt.

Tusk-face snarled, jaws drooling with fetid slaver. Fighting a desperate urge to chuck it a breath-mint, I made a grab for the gun....and found it wasn't there. 'Aargh.'

'Naargh,' agreed the halitoic hell-beast.

His vile breath must have been hallucinogenic for I had a brief, and terrible, vision of the Uzi sitting on my pillow; I had left it there when I changed into the ridiculous woollen dress, the hem of which I was currently tripping over.

All was lost.

I gagged as a crimson spray slapped my face. The beast and I shared a moment of incomprehension as we gaped at the foot of steel erupting from its breastplate. With a gurgle, the monster lolloped and slumped to the grassy floor, landing so its tusk grazed the tip of my left big toe.

Then I got another unwelcome surprise;

I had been saved by a floating head.

The bobbing bonce eyed me with confirmed disdain. 'Jurisfiction.'

I bristled. He had made the title sound venereal. I wiped a few spatters of blood from my lip. 'Yes. And you are under arrest.'

'Charming,' exclaimed the curious cranium. 'I just saved your life.'

'You are not fictional. Outlanders are not permitted to page-hop without the relevant documents.'

'A textport?' His lip curled. 'I'm not a sodding tourist.'

'Then how do you explain that accent?'

'Seanchan,' he drawled in unmistakable Bristolian. 'Besides, there's no way you can arrest me.'

I spun, the portal was sputtering like a miner on nitrous-oxide. 'Shit!'

Too late. I watched the portal suck itself into a belly-button sized blob. There was a plaintive _bop_ and that was that. I was marooned in Randland.

'Thanks a bloody lot. You could have told me.'

'Why, so you could try and put me under arrest?'

As the amused-looking head drifted closer, I saw it was attached to something after all.

My unwelcome saviour was wearing a strange cloak, one that swayed and bustled so it appeared to merge with the bucolic surroundings.

The man assumed an arch glower as he swept the nauseating cloak over his shoulder. 'Well?'

'Well what?'

'Are you going to stay here all day? That Trolloc is unlikely to be alone.'

'Trolloc? Is that Cockney rhyming slang for something?'

'I don't quite follow.'

'As in a kick in the Trollocs. Get it? _Trollocs_?'

I heard a faint, tinny chuckle. 'Glorious, my sartorial student! You replaced the appellation with rhyme to create crudity, yes? The source pun, I assume, is bolloc—?'

'Jherek!' I managed to sputter. 'You're still there!'

'Indeed I am.' Carnelian sounded delighted by my enthusiastic greeting. 'But where are you?'

'Stuck.' I said miserably, eyeing my companion with some disgust.

'Don't look at _me_ like that!'

'Who is your new acquaintance, my stranded siren?'

'Some bloke with a detachable head.'

'And where is the GG1 known as Rand?'

'His head has become detached. Permanently.'

'Oh, that is a shame.'

'Yes yes. Jherek? Can you get me out of here?'

'Without your portal?' scoffed the caped cretin. 'You might as well offer a Fade free contact-lens trials.'

I gave my braid a peeved tug, remembered the cut-off signal, sniffed and was relieved to hear Jherek's gentle tones pipe from the mic.

'...new friend is right, I fear. I must speak with LiteraTec concerning permission for another portal.'

'He's not my friend. And Jherek?'

'Yes, my melancholic martyr?'

'Please get me out of here.'

Mister Carnelian promised me his most vehement assurance and signed-off.

My plait received a forlorn tug and I slumped to the grass.

'We should get going.'

'We?' I squinted at my rescuer. He was cleaning his stupid, ugly sword with the dead beast's cloak. 'What makes you think I'm going with _you_?'

'Because you're my partner.'

'Piss off!'

He quirked a well-shaped brow. 'They didn't tell you? No matter.'

Then it all fell into place; the self-satisfied smirk, the miasma of arrogance, the perfect hair. 'Goliath,' I snarled.

I glowered at his smirk. If you're wondering what a Goliath is, the clue's in the name; picture that biblical bully on steroids, amphetamines and a serious ego trip and you'll get a pretty good idea.

I had worked under the Goliath Corporation in my SpecOps years. The memories were not fond ones.

'Why are Goliath soiling themselves with Jurisfiction work?' I demanded. 'Or is that _classified_?'

His grin was all the answer I needed. 'You're stranded. _My_ training,' He gave me a superior look. 'Equips _me_ with the means to decipher this world, a boon you will doubtless find useful in your current circumstances. When the portal is reactivated, the echelons will be only too glad to answer any queries. Until then, I advise you follow me.'

I threw poor GG1 a mournful look and trotted after my guide.

'So, where are we going?'

'To liaise with my contact. After all, there aren't supposed to be any Shadowspawn in this vicinity until chapter five.'

'Shadowspawn?'

'Trollocs, Myrddral, Draghkar.' He gave me a suspicious glower. 'Have you actually read any of Jordan's work?'

'Of course,' I snapped.

He was still eyeing me, clearly disbelieving.

'In fact,' I brazened. 'I'm very much looking forward to meeting Conan.'

There was a startled pause. A tumbleweed chose that very moment to breeze past.

'I think it would be best if you remain silent, Agent Belle,' said the stiff-looking Goliath Agent. 'Trollocs, and the like.'

Lip buttoned, I straggled in the tosser's wake.

'Where's your contact based?'

Sourpuss sighed. 'He's currently lodged at the Brandywine Inn.'

'Hang on; that's a pub from Lord of the Rings.'

'No, that was the Prancing Pony. The Hobbit Meriadoc's name was Brandy_buck_.'

'Right. Where are we going after that?'

We were approaching some sort of village now: cows, geese, muck and thatched roofs; your basic fantasy fare.

'To the Taren Ferry—'

'Now that's definitely filched from Fellowship.'

He gave me a withering look. 'The Hobbits made their escape via the _Bucklebury_ Ferry.'

'I still say it's derivative.'

'As you wish, Agent.'

'So, what's your name?'

'Agent Iron.'

'I mean your real one.'

His hesitated. 'Richard.'

'Mind if I call you Dick?'

'I'd prefer if you didn't.'

'Righto, Dick. Gosh, there's the Brandybucklebury inn already.'

'Brandy_wine_. And I don't want you bothering my contact. He likes me to do the talking.'

I shrugged. 'What's his name?'

There was something wicked about old Iron-Dick's grin. In fact, it was positively feral.

'Lan,' he replied, an ominous note in his west-country twang. 'al'Lan Mandragoran.'


	3. Wuthering Plights

**Author's Note:** Many thanks to zanderthegreat and Iolo for the kind feedback. This one's for you.

**Disclaimer: **Lamentations to the authors of any works referenced in the following.

**Chapter Three – Wuthering Plights**

_The case of _The _  is a confounding and intriguing one. In situ at the Great Library, the lost Bronte has been perused by numbers in excess of 700,000. It is of considerable note that many of these visitors are themselves literary in origin. For the inhabitants of BookWorld, viewing the lost Bronte could be construed as a sobering experience. A memento mori, the tome is a macabre aide memoire to the PageBound, an dark assurance that they too can die as swiftly or painfully as any Outlander._

**_The PageRun Paradox - Prof. J Moriarty_**

* * *

To be honest, the whole ye olde worlde thing isn't really my scene. 

Edmunds(sic) Field was leafy, green, and populated by the ilk of oik usually hunkered in third-rate adaptations of Austen or Thackery. There was even a Maypole jutting from the Green. It was all revoltingly quaint.

Naturally, Agent Iron Dick was lapping up the ambience but the slack-lipped bumpkins made me feel about as welcome as super-glue in a knackers yard.

'Don't misinterpret simple curiosity, Agent Belle,' advised Dick in his most condescending tone (and he had quite a selection). 'These folk don't often see Jurisfiction Agents.'

'They know who we are?'

'Of course. All the villages are low-grade generics. Most were harvested from surplus Hardy novels.'

'So these yokels are from Wessex?'

'Far from the Madding Crowd, to be precise. We managed to encourage Master Rigby Junior, subliminally of course, to incorporate a variation of the title into Randland. The success of the scheme has exceeded expectation.'

He would say that; the ploy was doubtless championed by Goliath. The cost-effective ones usually were.

'Let me do the talking,' reminded Iron. We had stopped outside The Brandywine Inn – it looked the usual spit 'n sawdust complete with mock-Tudor façade.

A scatter of menfolk dotted the gloomy bar like any number of boozy early-birders showing at a fleapit near you. Smoke wafted beneath the rafters along with the tart tang of ale and mead. It was a heady mix - whatever they were puffing wasn't tobacco.

'Remember scrumpy?' said one rheum-eyed codger to another in the monotone of oft-aired chagrin. 'An' I don' 'arf miss a nice rum an' Coke.'

'Aye. An' pork-scratchins,' mourned his chum as they gazed moodily into their tankards.

Dick was heading for a corner where, veiled by swirls of bluish pipe-smoke, a shady figure lurked.

'Agent Belle,' Dick murmured. 'This is Lan.'

I thrust out my hand. 'Nice to meet you, Al.'

Dick wilted as Lan shook my hand in much the same way a mastiff might shake a Yorkshire terrier.

Agent Iron excused himself under the pretence of getting a drink. I sat and eyed my new friend warily. He was tall and blocky, like a statue awaiting the last few nicks of a chisel. I got the impression the word 'stony' featured in his description a lot.

'So, you've got one of those nifty cloaks too, eh?'

Lan let the glaringly-obvious speak for itself.

'Got any spare?'

'No.'

'What's it made of? Mithril?'

'No.'

'Are you always this verbose?'

'Yes.'

I decided to change tack; by charging his monosyllabic grunts with meaning, surely I could gain some valuable insight into this intriguing man.

'Have you been a Warder long?'

I endured a blank look. 'As long as necessary.' He elaborated enigmatically.

'I bet you get to kill things a lot.'

Lan ignored me majestically.

'Is your Aes Sedai here?'

'Yes.' Lan assured assertively.

'I bet she's pretty.'

'     ,' retorted Lan silently.

'Excuse me.'

I made it to the bar, no easy feat when trying to stay afloat on a Swiftian tide of adverbs.

'Jordan actually _writes_ about that bloke?' I asked Agent Dick, jerking my thumb in Lan's general direction.

'Lan's fairly typical for a stoic-heroic B-class. The A's are more interactive.'

'A's?'

Before he could pounce on the opportunity to condescend, a small kerfuffle erupted behind us.

A thin, harried-looking youth had charged into the room. After skittering around a few tables he made a dash for our tense, terse warder.

'Master Lan,' gasped the boy. 'Have you seen Rand?'

'No,' said Lan.

The boy's dark eyes were darting like startled voles. 'Perrin, must find Perrin,' he gabbled before bolting from the inn.

'That's not a good sign.'

I squinted at Agent Iron. 'Why?'

'He must have already seen the Black Rider. And no,' he drawled. 'That does not mean a Nazgul.'

Lan was beside us in an instant. 'Nazgul?'

'Keep your cloak on, Al. Same genre, different book.'

Lan's face couldn't manage 'mollified' but his fingers relaxed on his slinky sword. 'Let's go,' he growled.

'He was an A-class?' I guessed as we followed Lan into the weak sunlight. 'That wittery little twerp?'

'The sprawling scope of this series means he will have aged at least three years by the final battle. I'm sure you can appreciate that a certain amount of development can occur in that time.'

'What, puberty?'

A concentrated snort flared Agent Iron's shapely nostrils. 'Excuse me.'

He sort of refused to speak after that so I strolled behind and tried to entertain myself. I had just ankle-swept a strutting duck when something caught my eye. Well both of them, to be pedantic.

It was a group of people holding signs behind a wicker fence. I spotted an emblazoned '_Al Can Crown Me Anytime_' while another screamed '_Tug This, Wisdom_'. The second was punctuated by a doodle that was ragingly phallic.

I plucked at Dick's sleeve.

'What _now_?'

'There are people following us. With placards.'

''_I saw the White Tower and All I Got was this Stupid Cloak_'? '_Justice for Asmo_'? '_Free the Shayol Ghul One_'?'

'That sort of thing, yes.'

'Lan-Lusters, Neo-Nynaevists, Friends of the Forsaken.' His lips thinned. 'As long as they don't bother the A-class characters they're free to petition at will.'

'Tourists! That's ridiculous!'

'It's all above board, I assure you.'

'Let me guess; Goliath's latest money-spinner, right?'

'The corporation does not endorse their behaviour,' said Dick stiffly.

'But still makes a packet from sneaking them in?'

'The visitors have the requisite documentation. I have no further comment on the matter.'

Dick swished his fancy cloak about him and strode on with his head held high (about six feet from the ground, to be exact).

Amazed, I took my first proper look around the square and spotted two girls in dinky uniforms pointing, giggling and generally swooning over an oblivious Lan. Nearby, an apple-cheeked merchant flogged chestnuts to an awestruck youth wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with '_RAFO_!'.

I felt a mortal rush of postmodernism – salvation was a sniff away.

'Agent Belle! I was becoming increasingly fraught.'

'It's good to hear your voice, Jherek.'

'Thank you, dearest. Would you like me to sing?'

'Maybe later. How's the portal situation?'

'Not yet resolved, my voluminous vexed vixen.'

'Best get a wiggle on. I've got a scoop here; those bastards at Goliath have started whoring Randland.'

'Just a moment, Agent Belle.' There was a muffled discussion before Jherek announced, 'I venture you're mistaken, loveliest of liberties. I just had a chat with Mister Schitt and he assures me his parentage is wholly legitimate.'

'Jherek, is someone from Goliath with you?'

'Indeed!'

'And can they hear me right now?'

'Yes,' announced an unfamiliar and decidedly flat voice

'Shit.'

'Yes?' enquired the voice.

'No, not you Mister Schitt.' I scrubbed a hand over my face. 'Jherek, stop playing with Goliath and get to work on that portal.'

'Yes, Agent Belle.'

I tugged my now scraggly braid and cursed. With such a prestigious name, Schitt had to be a Goliath big-wig. Worse still, I had been snippy with Jherek who was trying his best, albeit in his arse-backward way, to get me out of this mess. There was only one person I should be taking this out on. I caught up with Dick and delivered a swift punt to his shin.

'Better now?'

I gave him my sweetest smile. 'Much.'

'Hurry, Outlander.' Lan's stork-like strut had put him some way in front. 'I seek to return before dark.'

'Why?'

'It's Winternight, Agent Belle.' Dick spoke with the air of one admonishing a puppy for cavorting in its own faeces. 'All hell is going to break loose.'

'Then why are we leaving?'

'In the event of a mishap, the Taren Ferry was decided the most opportune site for an emergency prose portal. My colleagues will explain more upon our return to the Outland.'

'I can barely contain myself.'

Dick flexed his nostrils and strode to Lan. After a moment, they began to talk in hushed tones. I skulked closer.

'....another GG1 will be just as useless and you know I've searched this book to the Eye and back.' Iron paused then whispered, 'I've got the go-ahead to scout tGH.'

Now that made no sense at all. I edged nearer still.

'Trust me,' hissed Iron. 'I'll keep going until every page has been picked bare.'

'Then what?'

Iron answered Lan's growl with a resigned sigh.

'Look, will one of you sacks of testosterone tell me what's going on?'

Silence.

Scowling, I ripped a leaf from a roadside hedge. The curl of green crisped in my hand, grew white and frail as parchment. I gasped as the paper wisped to grey and four small letters drifted to the ground to spell f l a e.

'Something amiss, Agent?'

Both Lan and Iron were looking at me now. My fellow Agent's face was both wry and wretched.

'It's dying.'

Iron nodded. 'Makes the Blight look like Miracle-Gro, doesn't it?'

'Ye-es.' I blagged.

'You're going to need help, Liberty.' Dick's smile was sardonic. 'Hope your tutor's up to the task.'

'He's one of the best.' No one of accuse old Liberty Belle of disloyalty, no sir-ee.

I uncrossed my fingers as the two men walked on.

The flae – what was left of it – lay ruined at my feet. I toed the forlorn letters softly, winced as they crumbled out of existence.

Something was fizzing like neon in my mind; Moriarty's sombre dissection of the missing Bronte.

No one knew whether Emily, Anne or Charlotte wrote _The _ . Thanks to the PageRun of its major character, even the title was a mystery. All that remained of _The _  was a handful of valiant vowels and a page of purple prose that had now faded to dim lavender. Like a wheel without its hub, the entire book had disintegrated when the main character got itchy-feet. I suddenly felt a little ill.

'Why bother bringing in GG1,' I demanded, suddenly furious that the Ginger Generic had lost his life for nothing. 'You knew it would make no difference.'

'Goliath was aware of the plan's shortcomings but your precious Jurisfiction insisted.'

Iron paused as though expecting a pithy retort. I decided to disappoint him.

'The boy in the tavern was _ta'veren_,' he went on, clearly unnerved by my apparent complicity. 'One of three who unwittingly twist destiny wherever they go. Without Rand, the two remaining _ta'veren_ have nothing to be drawn to, compelled by. They will be free to deviate from the plot. The GG1 was a proposed decoy to try and maintain some intertextual normalcy.'

'So that boy scooting 'round like a toddler on tartrazine is _ta'veren_? And Rand is one as well?'

'The most powerful of the lot.'

'If he can change destiny, then what—?' I licked my lips. 'What if he leaps into another book?'

'That's not the worst of it, Agent Belle. Our ginger PageRunner pulls the other two like leaves in a whirlpool. If he stays rogue for long enough, one of the other _ta'veren _may follow Rand's lead.'

Agent Iron's spiel ended with significant look. For once I could understand why he had that pickle lodged up his arse.

It was a funereal bunch that reached the ferry. The portal was there; glowing, humming and looking fairly conspicuous on the breezy riverbank.

'After you, Agent Belle.'

I squeezed my eyes shut and stepped into the portal, emerged with a glum _plop_....and frowned.

Instead of Jherek's cheery study I found myself in a round stone room furnished with owls. They hooted and meeped as I glared at the two men standing before me on the feathery floor.

'Where the Hades am I?'

'Agent Belle.' The taller, thinner of the two strode towards me. 'Sorry about the inconvenience.'

I dodged his clammy handshake. 'Just answer the question, Slim.'

'We would prefer to keep that classified for the moment, Agent,' came a familiar voice. It was the same strange blend of savage urbanity I had heard through my communicator.

'You....shit.'

'Now, Agent Belle, there's no need to be—'

'It's quite all right, Mister Pugh.' Schitt was smiling as he stepped closer. 'I believe Agent Belle is entitled to vent her spleen a little.'

'I'd rather vent yours.'

Schitt blinked, then, with forced jollity, exclaimed, 'Ah! Here's Rick.'

_Rick_? I turned to see Iron Dick step from the portal. 'Misters Schitt, Pugh.' He inclined his head to the suits.

'Everything proceed as planned?'

'Mostly without incident, Mister Schitt sir, save for the loss of a GG1.'

'Yes, a terrible shame,' lamented Mister Pugh. Even without the ridiculous accent it was clear he was from the Peoples Republic of Wales. He was dressed like a fading maths teacher; beige brogues and blue suit do not a sound fashion statement make.

'Will someone please tell me what's going on?'

Schitt straightened his Goliath lapel-pin with ostentatious pride. 'You are in our secret rendezvous location, Agent Belle. Don't worry, it's perfectly safe - no matter how peculiar our actions, the inhabitants won't bat an eyelid.'

'Where's my tutor?'

Schitt smiled. 'Mister Carnelian had an altercation with some fauna. He should disentangle himself shortly.'

Apart from the owls shuffling and pootling their complaints, there was an uncomfortable silence.

'You still haven't told me what's going on.'

Schitt's smile withered. 'You're role in this operation has reached fruition, Agent Belle.'

'You can't just cut me out now!'

Rick – sorry Dick – cleared his throat. 'I'm afraid she's right, sir. I've already named her mission-partner.'

'Then take it back.'

'Difficult, sir. I believe she knows too much to be excluded.'

'Richard, Richard. Why would you do such a thing?'

Dick shuffled his feet amongst the feathers. 'It was a mistake, uncle....I mean, sir.'

Uncle? _Mistake_? Git.

'Very well, Richard.' Schitt said wearily. 'I suppose her presence will serve suitable penance for that impetuous streak.'

I'd seen more spontaneity in dry rot.

'Excuse me.' A small voice enquired. None of us had noticed the door creep open or the young boy peering at us through round-rimmed glasses. 'I've a letter – my owl, he's up there. Could I jus—?'

'Teachers meeting,' Schitt snapped.

The boy flapped his parchment limply. 'But it's very importan—'

'_Avada Kedavra_!'

There was a faint whoosh as the boy legged it.

'Oh dear. I hope he's not going to fetch that terribly bossy creature,' fretted Pugh.

'Right,' announced a suddenly nervous-looking Schitt. 'I'm sure you two are exhausted. Get some rest. Ms Belle, I'll arrange some back-up for you; please acquaint them by the morrow.'

I grunted but the small man's attention was already elsewhere; a puff of green cloud had nosed through the window.

'All right,' fumed Schitt. 'Who did a spell?'

I grinned as a dinky locomotive, chuffling a plume of emerald steam, hovered into view.

A delighted Mister Carnelian stood beaming from the helm of his little train. 'Agent Belle!' He swept off his top-hat and made a deep bow. 'You are indeed a rare sight.'

I laughed, clambered over the sill, took a deep breath and hopped onto the miniature engine. Jherek hugged at least seven years from me as Agent Iron and the other Goliath goons looked on disapprovingly.

'We will brief you on the mission at oh-seven-hundred hours, Ms Belle. Please be prompt.'

'Untwist your knickers, Schitt. Oh, and Dick?'

Iron quirked an expectant brow.

'Keep your pecker up.'

I winked at Jherek and, still grinning, we soared into the cyan sky.

'Why the delay, tutor mine?' I shouted over the whistling wind.

'I was postponed by a mischievous tree, most radiant of virtues. It seemed very fond of my locomotive.'

'Rightly so,' I enthused, immediately smitten with Jherek's Chitty-Chitty-Choo-Choo. 'Where are we off?'

'To the greatest of Great Libraries. Mister Downe has reported the arrival of two ladies intent on meeting you.'

Not even that could raise a gripe; I never realised scudding through the clouds in a flying train could be so cathartic. I flung my arms to the heavens. 'Then onwards and upwards my dearest Mister Carnelian.'

'Wonderful! Mistresses Mary and Sue are so looking forward to meeting you!'

Mary? Sue?

'Bollocks.'


	4. Through a Portal Sharply

**Author's Note:** Glory - huge thanks to PrincessEilonwy (you've heard of Fforde – great joy!) and Spencer4ever for the reviews. I hereby dedicate this chapter to you magnificent pair.

**Disclaimer:** Some of it's mine, a lot of it's not. I make no dosh from either.

_The story so far...._

Rand has lost the plot. Literally.

Jurisfiction Agent Liberty Belle has risen to the challenge of finding the renegade Rand before the Wheel of Time series disintegrates. With her mentor, the fictional Jherek Carnelian,a mere braid-tug away, our heroine must leap into Randland to find al'Thor and stop the other _ta'veren _from deserting. But what exactly is her partner, the agenda-led Agent Iron, up to? And who are the mysterious Mary and Sue? How come there are tourists in Randland? And why is the author wasting your time with this pointless précis? Follow me - the answers, dear friends, lay just ahead…..

**Chapter Four – Through a Portal Sharply**

_The origins of the sexivorous-maximus-maximus, or the common 'Sue, are an enigma. Analogous with the lure of the Odyssean Siren, resisting a 'Sue is a Sisyphean endeavour and even the most stoic of literary inhabitants will inevitably fall foul of their corporeal perfection. Although it has been known for a highly evolved 'Sue to be infiltrate and homogenise an established text, most are viewed as pests and should be treated accordingly. A concealed trap baited with honey or a small live rodent (rabbit as opposed to rat or mouse) can be effective although it should be stressed that even the most winsome 'Sue can be dangerous if captured. As such, they must be approached with extreme caution._

_**Beginners Guide to BookWorld – Chapter 284: Common Pests and How to Avoid Them** _

* * *

'I believe I may be enamoured of her.' 

I sighed. 'Of course. You're fictional. You have no choice.'

Jherek nibbled the end of his cravat, an expression of morbid longing on his face. 'My adorable Amelia! Oh, what a carnal cad am I! But they seem so nice, Agent Belle. So sweet and accomplished and amiable.' His large eyes glazed. 'And pliable and edible and ravishing and….oof.'

'Sorry.'

It took a while for Jherek to straighten, face penitent and more than a little pale. 'No, thank you Agent Belle. I believe I needed that.'

I shot the nearest 'Sue a scathing glare. It ignored me, of course. Being of the Outland, I was about as palatable to the creature as a Nesquik to the lactose intolerant. It's large, sparkling, lavender eyes were locked on Jherek.

'Are you a canon?' it asked in a voice like tinkling crystal.

Jherek beamed me a desperate look. Both 'Sues had wittered this question in a constant, mind-capsizing loop. Iron and I had no problems telling them where to get off. Mister Carnelian, however, was facing a crisis of the trouser variety. He jammed his fingers in his ears and la-la-la-ed loudly.

Dick looked up as I punted Jherek, still wimbling feebly, into a novelty chair 'amusingly' shaped like an egg.

'Interesting creatures.'

'What?' I snapped.

'The 'Sues,' mused Iron. 'Of course, I've worked with them before. Several times, in fact.'

There was a funny quirk to Iron Dick's lips. I amended 'quirk' to 'smirk'.

'Fascinating.' I plopped onto Jherek's lap. Purely for practical purposes, you understand; the poor bloke was champing to get at that sop-faced 'Sue. He resisted for a moment then slumped back, lips mouthing his wife's name like some celestial mantra. I ignored the 'Sue's Gorgon-glare.

We were cramped in Jherek's study waiting for old Schitt to grace us with his magnificence. For safety purposes the surrounding Great Library had been cordoned off and guarded by trained Morlocks. After all, it was risky releasing feral 'Sues into the wilds of Bookworld, particularly ones as plumaged as this pair.

'Sue-1 was typical of her breed; average height, brown tumbling locks and a bosom that could shelter a small village. Clad in a leather outfit that must have required some serious shoe-horning, the creature lounged against a book case like some sexy brockwurst. Cross-bows, dirks and jagged morningstars dripped from the 'Sue's implausible curves – decorative _and _deadly. I vowed to accessorise more diligently.

'Sue-2 was tall, blonde and skinny. Well, more willowy, really. And its hair wasn't really blonde as such….it was more a sheaf of brightest gold, and her eyes, oh! her eyes were as sparkling amethysts, skin pale as milk from the gentlest ewe, face delicate as a flower greeting the first dawn of Spring. My heart wept for this darling creature, the sweetest girl in the four counties, wept that she had been wronged, vilified for her kind, pure-hearted deeds, perhaps popping a lost fledgling back into its nest, carrying a lamb over some nasty, dirty puddle, rescuing a trapped bee from a tyrannous lupin-leaf or some other noble yet woefully unrewarded feat….

I shook my head, trying to scatter the morass of clichés and sickening imagery. It worked. When I looked back, 'Sue-2 was nothing but a scrawny, pasty vision of engineered deceit. It bared small, even teeth at me. I smiled back.

'Happy now?' Iron drawled.

'Not until my boot is up its arse.' Jherek had started struggling again. I grappled him in a decent head-lock.

'Relax. They can project an image but not control. Just ignore them.'

'What about _him_?' I gasped as my tutor peeped a sort of snarly whimper.

'Your Mister Carnelian is proof that the plan's going to work. Rebellion will be the last thing on al'Thor's mind once he sees these 'Sues.'

I wasn't convinced. Using a Mary-Sue as live bait seemed on the suicidal side of risky. I said as much to Iron Dick.

'Light, Agent Belle, must you question everything? Besides, desperate times etcetera, etcetera.'

'What did you just call me?'

'Agent Belle.'

'No, just before that.'

'What?'

'Light.'

'What's the matter?'

'Nothing. I was just wondering…'

'Then what did you swear for?'

'I didn't swear.'

'Yes you did - you said 'Light'.'

'Exactly.'

'What in the Light are you talking about?'

'There, you said it again!'

'What?'

'Light.' I ground out.

'You really should stop cursing, you know. Most unladylike.'

Luckily, Schitt scotched any more irritating dialogue by storming in.

'Right,' he snapped. 'Code names; you,' he jabbed a finger at lush brunette. 'Mary. You,' The blonde blushed prettily. 'Sue.'

How original.

'Iron and Belle, your names shall henceforth be Mat and Mai respectively.'

'Pardon uncle - I mean sir - but Mat's already taken.'

I raised my hand. 'Also, uncle-sir, isn't 'Mai' a little generalised?'

'How?'

'It means 'girl' in the Old Tongue. Something so blandly unoriginal will stand out like a sore Trolloc.'

'There's the alliterative dilemma as well, unc…sir.'

Schitt looked really confused now.

'Too many 'm's,' explained Dick. 'It breeds confusion for the reader.'

'It also smacks of the rank amateur. No offence.' I added belatedly.

Schitt squeezed his eyes so tightly they should have imploded. 'Fine. Call yourself whatever you want. Richard, you too – except Han,' he snapped as Iron's face took on a hopeful glint.

I thought for a moment. 'I'll be Thea then.'

'Vyren,' said Iron sulkily.

'Fine,' Schitt bared his weasel's grin. 'Good luck.'

'So, I've been wondering,' I said after Schitt had stormed out. 'How come you're not a Schitt? Name-wise, that is.'

Iron seized Jherek in time to stop the randy dandy from lunging at the nearest 'Sue. 'I'm related to that noble line on my maternal side.'

'So,' I mused as we set about lashing a now frantic Jherek to the novelty chair. 'Couldn't wait to ferret into the family business, eh?'

'I don't think I like what you're insinuating, Agent Belle. I achieved a position in the corporation because I champion their belief to make a better world for all.' He strutted to the portal control. 'On the subject, I find your surname rather intriguing.' His dark glare raked over me as he flicked the switch. 'I assume it's not based on aesthetics.'

'You know, Dick, when I first saw you I thought I'd hate your guts.'

'That is a shame.'

'Don't worry - I hate your fat mouth more.'

The portal flickered then flickered again. Then it flickered some more.

'What's up with that?'

'I'm not sure.' Iron was frowning as he poked a finger into the spasming light. 'It feels normal.'

'Are you canon?' came a voice like shivering snowflakes.

I spun and cursed. The darker 'Sue was loosening Jherek's restraints. My tutor squeaked then looked at me with a strange mixture of loathing and appeal.

'Don't meet her eyes, Mister Carnelian!' I cried as Iron vaulted from the podium and careered into the purring 'Sue-1. It snarled, eyes narrowed to indigo slits as it bucked and writhed beneath the burly Agent. The ecstatic portal exhaled the first strains of soft-porn muzac™.

'Belle,' cried Iron. 'Turn that thing off!'

'What? Jherek?'

'No! The portal!'

Too late I whirled to see 'Sue-2 skip towards the glowing gateway. With a burst of slide keyboard and electronic sax, the pasty creature flung itself into the light.

'Shit!'

'I'm here, Agent Belle.' Schitt lunged, grabbed my arm and hauled me towards the light. 'Get in after her.'

'Fat chance! That thing's gone nuts.'

'It's our duty, Belle.' Iron clutched my other arm hard enough to make me yip. 'We have to do this.'

I looked to Jherek who was now writhing under two of Schitt's buffest guards even as the remaining 'Sue made a grab for his trousers. It was quite a spectacle. Evidently, the portal agreed; the kinky music soared to a climax as Iron and I fell through the stuttering light….and into an oblivion.

* * *

'What's with this… 

_flicker_

…ing?' I cried. The light roared and died as we tumbled, twanging my optic nerves like cheap pant elastic.

'It seems…

_flicker_

...familar.' yelled Iron.

'Is that a good….

_flicker_

...thing?'

'How the_…_

_flicker_

...should I know?'

Light burned to ash, floating, drifting. I felt Iron's hand slip from mine and then nothingness….well, apart from some more light. Oh, you know what I mean.

* * *

'I told you to keep out of sight.' 

'Couldn't help it, bro'. They jus' kept doggin' at me; It's all 'hey man, do this and, hey dude, do that and hey, balefire that peasant.' It's wearing me down, man.'

I creaked open an eye. That lingo was way off mid-seventeenth century parlance.

'Just stay alert in future,' warned the quieter of the two voices. I could make out little other than they were male and one of them was very, very shiny. 'We don't need the publicity right now, remember?'

'Sure, man,' drawled his companion. 'Whatever you say.'

I bit back a groan and sat up. The alleyway I had landed in was dark, clammy and on the niffy side. I was also, apart from the mysterious conversationalists, very much alone.

'Iron…I mean, Vyren,' I hissed.

Nothing.

I yanked my braid. 'Jherek?'

'Did'ya hear that, man?'

I froze but the shiny man was already peering in my direction. I was slumping deeper into the mouldy hay when I spied the second speaker.

'Freeze!' I leapt from the straw and levelled my trusty Uzi at the taller, matte-er bloke. 'Rand al'Thor, you're under Jurisfiction arrest.'

'Woah,' spluttered the titian felon. 'You got the wrong end of my stick, lady.'

'Shut it, _Bland_,' I snarled, snapping cuffs to wrists. 'You are in a whole alternate world of trouble.'

'Excuse me, but what exactly are you doing?'

I glared at the resplendent fellow….then found myself glaring a little more. All broad shoulders and chiselled waist, he was at least a head taller than I. His armour was polished to a platinum sheen and, despite there being no breeze whatsoever, framed by a billowing white cloak. His hair was golden, his eyes cobalt blue. In short, he was absolutely bloody gorgeous.

'I'm, ahem, arresting your friend.'

Adonis simply smiled. 'On what charges, precisely?'

'Rand al'Thor is a wanted felon; PageRunner, first degree.'

'I see. But that isn't Rand al'Thor.'

I glanced at the ginger fellow; I had never seen a Rand-ier looking Rand. 'Yes it is.'

'I think you'll find it isn't.'

'Look mate, don't waste my time.'

'I think it's you who should look.' His supreme gorgeousness stepped closer and lifted Rand's sleeve. 'You see? No tattoos.'

'So?'

'So he cannot be the Car'a'carn.'

'Says you.'

'Says the entire theology of the Wheel of Time series. And another thing.' He reached for the sack slung over his broad shoulder and pulled out a scroll. 'There now. Observe the nose? Completely different flare of the nostrils. Plus, the real Rand's ears are smaller.'

I peered at the sketch. It was an arty-farty surrealist piece of the ginger hero cloud-tussling with his mortal foe. Sparkling beauty was right; this Rand did look rather different.

'Artistic license,' I declared.

'It's possible, but why would Rand speak like a twentieth century buffoon?'

I chewed on that for a bit then sighed. 'All right, so who is he and does he look like Rand?'

The two men exchanged a shifty look.

'There's enough room for the both of you….' I jiggled the manacles suggestively.

'Are you with Goliath?' The blonde asked.

'Do I look like an anally retentive, quasi-fascist litera-phobe to you?

They blinked.

'No,' I sighed. 'I do not work for Goliath.'

'You heard the skirt; she ain't no anal-fascist quasi-phobe. Tell her, man.'

The sum of all beauty considered for a moment before beginning. 'This fellow here is not the real al'Thor. Nor are any of the forty-six other 'al'Thors currently lodged in a nearby inn. Not one of the seventeen Mandragorans housed at The Feathered Egg are the real Lan, and the three Nynaeves, though suitably feisty, are none of them the genuine Wisdom. '

'I see. Just one little problem – you seem to be talking utter shite.'

'Let me try another approach.' The bombshell thumbed his chin. 'You are, I assume, conscious of the popularity of Mister Jordan's work.

'I am aware of his inexplicable success, yes.'

'Well, certain Outlanders have discovered a method by which to express their appreciation of the author's work.'

'Go on.'

'These people enjoy elaborating on the Jordan-verse, say….imagining the characters in unwritten scenarios or _re_-imagining scenes for their amusement. Some even go so far as to commit these fancies to paper. Imitation, as they say, is the sincerest form of flattery.'

I was getting a prickly, unpleasant sensation at the back of my neck. 'I'm not going to like this, am I?'

'Probably not,' his royal gorgeousness admitted.

'Perhaps we should just cut to the chase.'

'As you wish.' He smiled. 'Have you ever heard of something known as 'fanfiction'?'

* * *

I gazed into my scum-frothed Pina Colada. 'Fanfictional?' I murmured for the forty-ninth time. 

The blonde fellow nodded. 'Don't worry. They are really quite harmless.'

I eyed the motley patrons of The Feathered Egg cocktail lounge askance. My stomach wrenched at the sight of a quintet of Rands, all identical save for the tiniest details, locked in a game of Twister. In a shaded corner a trio of Wisdoms sniffed into their Virgin Marys while a burly, yellow-eyed bloke sat gossiping at an axe.

'I should report you. All of you.' I cradled my head in my hands. 'Iron's is going to have a seizure over this.'

'Iron?' Cal spat. '_Agent_ Iron?'

'My partner,' I said miserably. 'You know him?'

'That blaggard was here a few days ago. He said _they_ had been alerted to our existence and that we were going to be exterminated.' His delicious-looking lip curled in a sneer. 'A waste of textual resources' - those were his exact words. It took us four hours to calm Rand126.'

'Goliath can't do that! They haven't got powers of Jurisfiction.'

'He seemed to know what he was talking about. Claimed it was a matter above any 'petty grunt organisation' and that we would be ancient grammatic history by Thursday next. Problem is, I don't really fancy being liquefied in the text sea.'

'Why don't you skedaddle? You could pass as a Generic.'

'You're not the only one on a mission, Agent - I'm looking for someone. Someone who likes to hang around canon characters.' He grimaced. 'Well, one to be exact.'

'Cal, will you dance with me? Will you, will you, will you?' cried a giddily giggling redhead now bouncing around our table like Tigger on uppers.

'Not now, Siuan,' the blonde man said gently. 'Try Asmodean13 – he's over there with Lan09.'

He sighed as the crazed Amyrlin bounded in search of easier prey.

'Agent Belle, how can I condemn these creatures to certain extinction? So what if they are counterfeits – does that mean they have no will or purpose? Rand37, you should hear him sing Sinatra and Taim08—?' Cal shook his head fondly. 'He's just about the best break-dancer this side of the Taren. Agent Iron said if they're not canon they're not viable. But how can that be?'

'Oi, fellas! Check this out!'

We both turned in time to see a youth with dark hair and mischievous eyes leap from the bar-top into a sea of ginger. I grinned as the boy Rand-surfed to huge applause. Cal, however, was snarling again.

'Problem?'

Cal relaxed his grip on his rapier though his glare never left the grinning youth. 'Not yet.'

'So,' began my lacklustre attempt to raise the levity. 'Who are you supposed to be?'

'Nobody. I'm an OC - Original Character.'

'I like the outfit.'

'Thanks. Questioner, second-class. Apparently, this makes me entirely evil.'

'Oh, that is bad luck.'

'Isn't it?'

We paused to watch Siuan swing a giggling Forsaken around the room.

I swigged at my drink then asked; 'If you're an original, how come you're on the Goliath naughty list?'

'I inhabit a world imagined by another. I don't belong here. I'm an interloper, a trespasser.'

'But that's not your fault.'

'I don't suppose that really matters to Goliath.' Cal swirled a finger in his Sex on the Beach then paused. 'Wait, you're genuine Jurisfiction, right?'

I nodded.

'And you're completely stuck here, yes?'

I nodded, glumly this time.

'I can help you.'

'How?'

'I promise to give my all to whatever mission it is you are on. I'll even help find your bastard partner. All I ask is one favour in return.' Cal clasped my hand. My belly flopped as his warm, calloused flesh pressed against mine.

'I want to be somebody,' he said, voice deep and earnest. 'I want to be print-bound, Light, leather-bound.' His grip tightened. 'I want to be canon.'

'I'm sorry, I can't—'

'I'll get you out of this mess. All I ask is to be written. Truly written. There must be a chance.'

Something clicked. 'This person you're looking for – it's a girl isn't it?'

'Yes,' Cal sighed. 'An OC. We were created together but she fled before the dénouement. I know why but not where.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. She's Queen Slut of the Multiverse - when I get my hands on her I'm going to rip out her black, withered excuse for a heart and feed it to a…. – no, salt and burn it, then stomp on it, _then_ feed it to a Darkhound. Or maybe—'

'Ow.'

Cal released my crumpled hand. 'Sorry.'

'Don't worry about it. Look, can you give me a minute to think on this whole 'buddy' thing?'

'Sure.' His armour chimed as he leapt to his feet. 'Another Pina Colada?'

'Gimme a Screaming Orgasm.'

A blushing Cal hurried off and I took a long look around the room; Twister had degenerated into a wedgie tournament, yellow-eye's was snogging his demonic axe and the crowd-surfer was mooning an overjoyed Siuan. It was like an institution for the merry demented.

For some reason I was smiling when Cal returned, his huge azure eyes gazing above the colourful cocktails. 'Well?'

'Let's recap; despite having no contact with the Outland whatsoever I have to find my partner, catch a sex-crazed 'Sue, cage a potentially lethal PageRunner, prevent Goliath from committing mass literacide, save all of Randland AND somehow make you an officially registered character.' I grabbed my Orgasm and took a mammoth glug. 'All right,' I gasped. 'But no promises.'

'Oh Liberty,' His hand found mine again. 'If only there was some way I could repay you right now.'

I fluttered my lashes in a passable 'Sue impression.

A shy smile dimpled his cheeks. 'Are you thinking—?'

Through some feat of literary engineering, his lips tasted even better than they looked. Maybe there were some advantages to this Fanfiction after all.


	5. The Great Shunt

**Author's Note:** A three-way dedicaton is in order - Princess Eilonwy (thanks - I love onions!), Spencer4Ever, and TheZorpisuttle (btw Cal _is_ who you think he is - well spotted!) - in the words of Rand129; muchos gracias. This chapter was sitting on disk for a long time so it's getting a little rabid - thanks for giving me the impetus to release it into the WoT wilds.

**Disclaimer: **The following chapter contains a product that is entirely fictional and in no way related to Duct-Tape™. No sir-ee.

**Chapter Five – The Great Shunt**

**Are plot-holes getting you down? **

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**Sturdy and durable, FUCT™, or Fictional Utility Corrective Tape, is resistant to gerund, dieresis, and Jabberwock attack – it's the answer to all your textual troubles. So, remember:**

**Got a problem…..GET FUCT™!**

FUCT™ Tape is a product of Goliath Corporation. FUCT™ Tape is not compatible with paradoxes, Prose Portals or any works authored by Dean R. Koontz. May contain nuts. Not to be taken orally.

_Advertisement feature from The Daily Pickwick, __April 25th 1988_

* * *

_Some time later, as twilight grazed the diaphanous drapes, Agent __Liberty__ Belle stirred in her blankets and sighed. At her side, replete and resplendent, lay the errant Questioner named __Cal__; bold and handsome, thoughtful and kind, the paramount lover -_

'Wait.' I bolted upright. 'What just happened?'

Cal stirred and fluttered open his baby blues. My belly did its best impression of a jumping bean on a trampette. 'We had SECS.'

'Come again?' Which was an ironic thing to say, given the circumstance.

'S-E-C-S. Standard Enforced Censored Shennigans.' Cal propped himself up on an elbow, smiling at my doubtless aghast expression. 'Jordan gets nervous about his characters being caught _en flagrante_ – the Wheel of Time series stretches to implied sexual acts only.'

'So we haven't done it?'

'Done what?'

'_It_.'

'Technically, no.'

'So one minute we're snogging in the bar—'

'And the next we're puffing on a post-copulatory pipe.'

Bowlderised in the bedroom - the ultimate coitus interruptus.

'Bugger that,' I growled, lunging for my wide-eyed, would-be ravisher….

_Some considerable time later, as moonlight lit on tangled sheets, __Liberty__ Belle stretched her lithe, naked body_…._and swore._

'Bloody hell - this is really getting on my wick.' Which was also an ironic thing to say, if your entendre switch was set on 'tenuous'. I sighed, pouted a bit, then nestled into a manly shoulder. 'So, I suppose a bonk is out of the question?'

'Go to sleep. Tomorrow, we'll find you a nice red-rod ter'angreal.'

'What does that do?'

Cal whispered in my ear. In no time, I was grinning as widely as he.

* * *

_'Dough Dan-ee Booooy, the pies the pies are crawling!_

_From wren to wren and floss the doubting bride...'_

With a cry, I charged through the spray of musical mondegreens and flung glad arms about the singer.

'My slumbering serendipity,' exclaimed Jherek, holding me at arms length and smiling his lovely smile. 'It's so joyous to see you - I was worried pink.'

I swiped at the snotty snail-trail where my nose had bashed his shoulder, not wanting to ruin his fabulous single-breasted, chocolate with yellow pinstripe suit set off with black winkle-pickers and - rather incongruously - a ten-gallon hat. Purple, of course.

'Jherek?' I asked, my voice wibbling only slightly. 'Where are we?'

'Why, the late twentieth century I had hoped.' My mentor cast a worried glance at our surroundings. 'Oh dear - have I got it so dreadfully wrong?'

'No, no,' I assured hurriedly. 'Just a few teeny errors.' I gestured at a wilting – melting - flower. 'Buttercups aren't usually made of butter. And cars run on wheels, not feet. Oh, and you know the sky – it has a strange tendency to be filled with clouds.'

'Not clowns?'

'Er, no,' I said, peering at a distant Pierrot masquerading as cumulus stratus with the aid of mime.

Clearly crestfallen, Jherek waved a hand and the sky was full of plump fluffy clouds in place of plump, un-funny clowns.

'Better?'

'Much. I'm none the wiser, though.'

'This,' he spread his be-ringed hands and beamed. 'Is _tel'aran'rhiod_.'

'Come again?'

'The domain of dreams, sphere of somnabulance, idyll of the imagination.' Jherek patted my arm. 'Don't worry. It's quite safe.'

'Then I'm not dead?'

'Simply sleeping, sweetest of peas. I was much distraught to discover the malfunction of the communicator so I seized the opportunity to speak with you.'

We paused to appreciate a herd of cows in aerial formation. 'Thank you.'

'You're very welcome.'

'So I'm still in bed?'

'Cozened up with that blonde fellow. Good work, my peppered pigeon-pie. He's seems a thoroughly decent sort.'

We skittered our gazes from each other before I piped, a little too heartily; 'Jherek – what now?'

'I held discourse with that terribly clever Victorian fellow; queer name, funny hat—'

Talk about pot calling kettle.

'—Gosh, you know, the one with the pipe and jocular physician friend.'

'Sherlock Holmes?'

'The very same! Frightfully quick chap – he sleuthed that the sarcasm quotient has risen 74 per cent in Chapter Forty-Seven of The Great Hunt.'

'Agent Iron,' I breathed.

'Lemon-entry, my dear girl.'

'Can you pop up a portal?'

Jherek shook his head sadly. 'According to Master Schitt, all standard communications are F-O-O-B-A-R. But have heart,' he implored at my glum mien. 'The first edition of The Eye of the World contained an anomaly in Chapter Thirty-Four – Kari al'Thor's eyes are described as 'dark.'

'So?'

'Rand's facial orbs are described as identical to his mother's yet….'

'_His_ eyes are grey,' I marvelled.

'Precisely, my chucklesome chickadee. The error was patched in later editions but your companion Cal should have the means to locate the plot-hole and breach the adjoining book.'

'Jherek, you're an utter bloody genius.'

'Also, I have held discourse with Agent Iron in the World of Dreams – he is eager to greet you at Falme.'

Greet? Throttle, more like.

I smiled nonetheless – Jherek sort of had that effect on people – but my usually merry mentor sniffled at my parting kiss. 'Take care, Liberty.'

Now that sounded ominous. 'Jherek, is there anything you're not telling me?'

His lower lip quivered. 'Absolutely not.'

'Are you sure?'

'Sure as legs.'

'You mean eggs?'

'Indeed,' exclaimed an obviously troubled Jherek. 'Now cheerios, my student. Be well.'

And, with that I woke up.

'Gosh – a secret mission. How splendid,' I exclaimed, bouncing from my blankets and coming over all Enid Blyton in my girlish glee. 'I hope there's lashings of tea for afters.'

Cal blinked as he struggled from the quilt. 'Are you all right?'

'Fine, but we need to get our rumps in gear.' I planted a kiss on his lovely brow.

_Sometime later, confused and angry in mien, __Liberty__ Belle clasped the bed-sheets and raised her voice in a heavenward cry_….

'Oh for Fain's sake,' I bellowed. 'It was only a bloody kiss.'

Cal paused in the act of pulling on his breeches. 'I think someone's having a game with you, Outlander.'

'Well she can piss off.'

'What makes you think the Creator is a she?'

I waggled a lascivious brow. 'Who else would grace us with One-Powered vibrators?'

'Good point.'

'In more ways than one.'

'Liberty Belle, behave yourself.'

* * *

According to Cal – who was getting steadily handsomer by the heartbeat – our first task was to pluck a suitable Rand from the crop of FanFictional gingers in the bar below. 

We ummed and ahhed a while – it was worse than a trip to the pound with all those big eyes pleading up at us - but only one cut the Dijon mustard. Rand129; ginger, eager, with just a pinch of stupidity.

'Sure he's the right one?' I asked Cal as we slurped celebratory cocktails in the neon splashed Feathered Egg. The unsuccessful Rands had already sloped to the bar, a red-tufted tide of dejection.

'I've eliminated the possible defects,' confirmed Cal, ticking one off each finger. 'Complete Psychosis, OOC-ness, weakness for Mary-Sues – he's pretty much flawless.'

FanFictional Specimen Rand129 (author unknown – account deleted) curled a prim smile over his pink cocktail complete with umbrella, twisty straw, and other assorted faff. 'Can't thank you enough,' he said, and that sense of creeping unease crept a little higher. It was nothing I could pin down, except maybe his hair….too artfully mussed. 'I won't let you down.' And there it was again, that wisp of a lisp, hardly there at all.

Cal's face was very solemn. 'And you are aware of the dangers?'

'Oh absolutely.'

'Tattoos? Alienation? Madness? Bigamy?'

Rand129 baulked at that last one before hitching his grin high. 'I'm the Rand for you'.

'Sorted?' I whispered.

'I'd say so,' Cal agreed.

'Gorgeous.' Rand129 winked at us. 'Don't suppose there's time to finish this Screaming Queen?'

* * *

I know, I know - in retrospect the signs were all there.

* * *

'_What_ tape?' 

'FUCT™ tape,' Cal replied, peering around the gloomy corner. 'They sold reams of it until 1986.'

I exchanged a bemused glance with Rand129. 'What happened then?'

'Non-renewable resource. It turned out it was almost impossible to get FUCT™.' For some reason Cal was whispering. He was also the colour of warm blancmange. 'The lengths Goliath went to get FUCT™ is the stuff of legend.'

'Strange. I'd have thought Goliath would be told how to get FUCT™ all the time.'

Cal un-poked his head from 'round a corner. His smile was – if you'll excuse the pun - a trifle queasy. 'All clear.'

'Wait!' wailed Rand129. 'What are my lines again?'

'Just improv.' I patted his hand reassuringly. He looked singularly unreassured. 'You're the best Rand we've got. Hand-picked. Bursting with gingery goodness. You'll be fine.'

'Yes, yes – but what's my motivation?'

'Jesus in a jo-car - have you kept the receipt?' I hissed at Cal who ignored me, albeit apologetically.

Backs pressed to the walls, we edged into our destination. The room was cavernous, droopy with gloom but warm enough to singe the whiskers off a Darkhound.

'What's up with the thermostat?'

'Shh.'

'Shh yourself - where's the plot-hole?'

'I don't know,' Cal admitted, now very white around the eyes.

I swore and scoured the room; it was bare save for the inferno in the hearth, a single wooden chair, and an oppressive shroud of evil. No sign of any plot-holes. Not for the first time, I began to doubt Jherek's advice.

It was at that moment the sound came; a sonorous knell, like the last toll of doom, a dread tocsin that ached to my bones. It swelled, louder and louder until it seemed it would crash upon me like a black tide. I turned, eyes wide, sweat an chill veil on my flesh - and beheld a sight that turned my blood to ice.

There, in all his unholy maleficence, loomed a creature of flame and shadow - The Father of Lies.

'OOOH, WHAT LUCK,' said the Betrayer of Hope. 'I'VE JUST POPPED THE KETTLE ON.'

While Cal and I gaped like a pair of slapped cod, Rand129 stepped forward, shoulders squared to geometric perfection. He took a deep breath and launched his acting debut with a single word; 'Aaaaaaagggggh.'

Cal flung himself twixt the mortal foes but it was too late.

'WHO IS HE?' boomed the Dark One.

I pasted on my best artless smile. 'He?'

'THAT BOY,' said the nexus of all evil, though some of the conviction had left his OVERWHELMINGLY EVIL voice. 'THE ONE WITH RED HAIR.'

'Oh that's just my cousin….erm….Juan.' A bead of sweat twinkled on the tip of my nose then plopped to the floor.

Rand129, who seemed to have recovered remarkable composure, wiggled his fingers coyly. 'Buenos Diaz.'

Oh, he was good.

Cal rubbed his hands in the manner of one eager to be somewhere else, perhaps a kitten abattoir or neck-deep in landfill. 'We really should be leaving mister….'

'CALL ME SHAI'TAN,' the Dark One insisted, cousin Juan forgotten. In fact Ba'alzy had perked right up – he was all a-glow. Literally.

'Righto, Shai'…mmphle.'

Cal fixed a grin as he un-clamped my mouth. 'Thank you, Ba'alzamon, but we have to be on our way.'

'OH, THAT IS A SHAME. I'VE GOT ALL SORTS, YOU KNOW; PEPPERMINT, DANDELION, ROSEHIP. ALL ORGANIC.' He waggled a flaccid tea-bag. 'NICE AND FRUITY.'

He was fruity all right – fruity in the head.

'Maybe next time.' Cal groped a little further along the wall, Rand129 and I following his lead. 'We're on our way somewhere, you see.'

Red eyes narrowed to slits. 'WHERE?'

'Funeral,' leapt from my tongue the very instant Cal blurted; 'Shearing.'

'A FUNERAL AT A SHEARING?' Old Grim asked doubtfully.

'Si,' said Rand129.

'We wouldn't bother going but you know how it is – keeping in with the relatives and all that. Dead-Sluffing is all the rage on the Isle of Madmen - they're a bit queer down there….isn't that right?'

'Loco,' agreed Rand129.

'Ha ha! Yes, mad as a box of frogs, the lot of them.' I twirled a finger in the vague direction of my ear. 'Crazy. Crackers. Bonker-bloody-riffic.'

'FANCY THAT,' said Old Grim, his flames brightening again. 'BALTHAMEL SAID I NEED TO WORK ON MY TAN. DO YOU MIND IF I TAG ALONG?'

'Noooo,' we chorused, unified in mortification.

'SPLENDID. LET ME JUST NAB MY FACTOR 35. ISLE OF MADMEN – WHOO! IT'S BEEN A WHILE. HA! FUNNY STORY – HAVE YOU EVER HEARD ABOUT THE TIME I….WHERE ARE YOU OFF NOW?'

We stopped our scurry to the door. 'Just getting warmed up for the fun-run,' I assured, jogging on the spot.

'FUN-RUN!' Shai'tan sent sparks flying as he clapped. 'DAPS IT IS, THEN!'

As soon as his shadowed back was turned, Cal muttered a low; 'Fucked.'

'We are not - I've squirmed out of worse than this.'

'No, FUCT™. I can see the tape. Distract him.'

Trying to look casual, I strolled to stroke a chair made of what looked suspiciously like MDF. 'Nice décor. Very minimalist.'

'ISN'T IT?' agreed Ba'alzamon happily. 'SHOW ME THE LATEST _IK'EA _CATALOGUE AND I'M ALL AQUIVER. SEMIRHAGE LOVES ASSEMBLING THINGS – HONESTLY, THE THINGS THAT WOMAN CAN DO WITH A SCREWDRIVER….'

'Psst. Hurry up.'

'Nearly there,' Cal hissed back. Rand129 was dancing on his toes as Cal unpicked a strip of gluey-looking tape. I could make out a twitter of blue and red light, as though a Jean Michel Jar extravaganza was taking place just beyond.

'….CAN SCARCELY KEEP HER AWAY FROM MY POINTY THINGS - PLIERS ARE _ALWAYS_ DISAPPEARING….'

The light was getting brighter now. With a triumphant flourish, Cal tore the brown tape from its latching, punted the faux-Rand through, and then lunged for my arm. I was getting a bit sick of being hauled through strange orifices.

'….AND ALL THOSE SCREAMS COMING FROM HER ROOM. HAVEN'T THE FOGGIEST WHAT SHE'S GETTING UP TO. I THINK MAYBE SHE'S GOT ONE OF THOSE RED-ROD TER'ANGREALS IN THERE….HEY, DON'T GO….I GET SO LONELEEEEEEE….'

His Dark Whininess's plea chased us, stretching as it plunged into a pinhole of infinity. I had that queasy feeling, the kind you get hitting water from at great height, and then I was tumbling across good old terra firma.

'Argh,' I yelled, skidding to a grass-stained halt. 'If I get dragged through one more hole—'

'You'll do what, exactly?'

That voice sounded familiar. In a nice way. Sort of.

'Eeew. She's all icky,' squealed a voice that was decidedly _un_-familiar and not nice at all.

I blinked up at the figures silhouetted against what looked like a roaring firework display.

'You're late,' drawled the familiar voice. A hand reached to haul me afoot. 'Can't you do anything by the book?'

'You mean God-Emperor Iron Dick's Big Book of Bollocking Arse-ery?'

Amazingly, Agent Iron cracked a smile. 'Be nice.'

'Richie, put her down. You don't know where she's been.'

Iron blinked and released me and I turned a glare on the mewling harridan at his side. With that frou-frou hair and googly eyes, she was unmistakably the rogue 'Sue-2. I frowned at her then frowned at my acknowledgement of her _her_-ness – _it_ had somehow become a _she_.

'Buenos Diaz,' piped Rand129 cheerily.

Agent Iron ignored the clone's proffered hand. 'What is this creature doing here?'

'This _creature_ is called Rand129. And he's our new GG1.'

I could see Iron's stiff lip fighting a sneer. 'That thing is not a classified Generic.'

'No. He's better then a Generic.'

Agent Dick simmered. I simmered back.

'Perhaps it's best we keep our voices down,' Cal said diplomatically. 'We seem to have landed in a sortie.'

I flung Iron Dick a final disgusted look then noticed the strangeness of my environment. _Really_ noticed. There was a lot of yelling going on amid the sound of steel locked on steel. And those weren't fireworks in the night sky.

'Welcome to Falme, Agent Belle.' Iron spared only a glance for Cal. 'And about time - we have a situation.'

'Oh?'

'A PageRunner.'

'What a scoop!'

'A second PageRunner, since you wish to be pedantic, Agent Belle.'

That cracked the smile from my teeth. 'Who?'

'Matrim Cauthon – a liability from the outset. I'd been keeping him on a tight leash but he's wily.'

I swore. Agent Iron nodded. 'I've persuaded the Aybara boy to summon the heroes but he's not happy. Your,' again that barely repressed sneer, 'FanFictional creation will have to do. We can make it look like the horn summoned Rand along with the heroes, work it into the scene.'

'So what now?'

Iron hunkered into the grass, neatly timed to duck a whizzing fireball. 'Now, we wait.'

We crouched in a rough circle, eyeing each other with barely veiled interest and/or contempt.

A glance at the 'Sue set her 'icky' comment pinballing through my skull. She could wait – after all, I was a professional bider of time.

'So, who's the bitch?'

All right, maybe I was more of an amateur.

'As you well know—' Iron paused to appreciate a particularly colourful explosion. 'She is the litera-form known as 'Sue-2.'

'That is not my name, Richie,' snapped 'Sue-2. 'I am called Seiera.'

I snorted. 'What?'

'On account of my beauteous blue eyes,' simpered 'Sue.

'Shut it, bubbles.'

But Iron was smiling at the creature. 'She's become self-aware. It seemed these creatures develop if suspended in a literary format for sustained periods. We had only been here an hour when she proclaimed herself Seiera.'

'On account of my beauteous blue eyes.'

'Want to know what fist tastes like?'

'Sue sniffed and glanced appealingly at Cal who took not notice of her whatsoever. She then tried her luck with Rand129 but he was staring at the blonde Questioner with a strangely glazed expression.

'So why is she such a prick?'

'On the available evidence, I would say that her current status is equative with that of a C-Class Generic – her personality is mono-faceted, her speech trite and loaded with hyperbole. She is self-centred and entirely oblivious to the needs and emotions of others – she is, in fact, a truthful reflection of any non-literary member of her sex.'

'She must have really roughed you over, Dick.'

'Who?'

'Whoever dumped on your heart. I commend her style.'

'Always below the belt, Agent Belle. Speaking of which—' He cast a significant look at Cal.

'So what?' I yelled hotly. 'It's none of your business, numb-nuts.'

'Oh, I wasn't condemning it, Agent. Many things can be learnt through less conventional means.'

'You haven't!'

I glanced at 'Sue-2 who was suddenly the colour of a boiled ham. Oh, he had.

'A necessary step in her evolution.' Dick twanged in his Bristol brogue. 'Her subsequent progress has been unprecedented.'

Smug, carrot-crunching bastard.

'I myself benefited from the encounter, gaining numerous notes documenting the event, and will present, if permitted, a dissertation to the Goliath echelons upon my return. I truly believe I have the key in dealing with her kind. I may allow you sight of my resear—'

But I had already tuned out. 'Sue-2 gazed at Iron with drippy adoration. I willed a fireball to speed into her stupid head.

A blue flash panged the sky, followed by a terrific bang. Fearing a karmic cranial assault I hunched closer to Cal but he seemed oblivious, eyes fixed blankly ahead.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing.' He shook himself but the gaze he turned me was wide and worried. 'Thought I felt something for a moment.'

'It's her, isn't it?'

He hesitated. 'Yes.'

I waited for jealousy to sting. It didn't. 'Hey, it's a small world, right? We'll find her. Look how easy it was finding old Iron Dick.'

A smile tugged at his pretty mouth. 'He is a dick, isn't he?'

'The most righteous of them all.'

Ignoring Iron's dry 'I heard that', Cal bent to plant a kiss on my lips. It was warm and soft and altogether chaste. I wasn't used to that brand of lip-lock. Maybe it was the novelty factor but it was one of the sweetest I'd ever had.

'Thank you, Libby.'

'Eeew, the man kissed the icky girl.'

Cal rolled his eyes. 'Want me to run her through a few times?'

'Nah – if push comes to shove she'll be handy as a sub-human shield.'

_Blat!_

'Excuse you,' I smirked at Dick.

'Quiet!' he hissed back.

_Blat!_

'God, that's awful,' I cried, smothering my ears against something best described as an elephant parping George Formby on the kazoo.'

_Blat__! Blaaaaaat!_

'Wait - sounds like they're getting the hang of it.'

'The grave is no bar to my call,' said Iron Dick, his voice low and awed.

I wasn't so impressed, not when what sounded like the world's jolliest hunt was coming our way. I fell back, yanking Cal with me in time to miss the churning hooves of a hundred horses trailing tatters of mist.

'What's that all about?' I yelled over the din.

'The Horn of Valere.'

'Is it big and red and rod-shaped?'

'No, Agent Belle, it's a horn.' Iron punctuated his disgusted look with a snapped; 'You! FanFic! Get in there!'

Rand129 - who was still staring at Cal in that fixed, glassy way – went the colour of curdled Bailey's. 'My cue! I missed my cue!'

Then he was haring for the mess of men and horse.

'Is he going to be all right?'

Cal nodded at my side. 'He'll be fine.'

And he was. As titanic sky-fights to the death go, Rand129 was putting on one hell of a show.

I sighed as Cal rested his head on mine. 'Our little baby's all grown up.'

'Oh for God's sake,' I heard Iron snap before he stomped in the direction of the curly-haired youth clutching the wailing horn.

That's when I spotted something – or someone - hunched in the bushes. He looked vaguely familiar and kept reaching beneath his coat in a covetous, Gollum-ish way. A moment later he spotted me, squeaked, and ducked from sight.

'_Him_,' I breathed.

'Hmm?' Cal replied.

'The boy in the pub, the one in Emond's Field. It's him. And he looks _awful_.'

I felt Cal stiffen. 'I should have known why she would be here.'

_She?_ I looked around in time to see a black-cloaked figure slink towards the clump of bushes.

With no time to think myself out of it, I launched for the ominous shape.

The cloak loosed a feminine 'Ooof,' as I wrestled it to the turf. A cheeky ground and pound and the bitch was mine.

'How's it going?'

Cold blue eyes glared into mine. 'Get off.'

'Or what?'

Well, it seemed a reasonable question at the time.

The next thing I knew someone was fanning me with a tuft of cape and my head felt like a gong-sounders reunion.

'Are you all right? Bloody channelers, eh?'

A frail hand took my own and yanked me afoot.

'I know you,' I slurred.

The boy's dark, bloodshot eyes slitted. 'You're not the poisoned knife lady, are you?'

'No.'

'Darkfriend, then?'

'No.'

'Seanchan?'

'No.'

'Illuminator?'

'No,' I snapped, starting to get a bit put-out now. 'And who the hell are you?'

'Thom Grinwell,' he ventured.

'Bollocks.'

'All right, you got me; I'm Rand al'Thor.'

'What is _wrong_ with you?'

'Mat Cauthon,' he muttered sullenly.

'That's bette….wait a minute….'

'Good work, Agent Belle.' Out of the fog came the striding form of Goliath's pet Dick. 'I believe our _taveren_ friend here was planning a little jaunt.'

'You were deserting,' I accused, rounding on the boy who had the grace to look not the slightest bit abashed.

'Well, no one could find Rand,' he began, fumbling beneath his coat. 'And who else can beat….you know who?'

'What, Voldemort.'

'No, Ba'alzamon.' The boy shuddered as the name left his pale lips.

'Hush now, Mat,' came a faintly lisping voice from the rear. 'I could never leave you.'

The darker boy almost fell as he spun to face the advancing Generic. He almost fell again, on his rump this time, as Rand129 surged to clutch him in an embrace.

All very touching, if not for the faint tingle in my head; alarm bells or residual concussion? I shot a glance at Iron - a frown was worrying his brow. Something was very wrong here.

'Rand, what are you flaming doing?' Mat's smile was strained as he fended off his 'friend'. There was a curious, almost fevered gleam in Rand129's eyes, the very same as when he looked at Cal.

From his groan, Iron had evidently realised the same thing as I.

We had slash in our midst.

* * *

And so the calm after the Seanchan storm. 

Cal and I sat in companionable silence. Companionable on my part, at least. My pretty pal looked like he wanted to boot something. Luckily, Mat Cauthon was several yards away.

Cal was staring at the scorch-mark blasted into the grass. I touched my head and flinched in memory of that assault, the wreathing cold and dread shudder before I blacked out. Next time I saw that caped cow her arse was mince.

I left Cal alone when he ran a reverential palm over the black mark, smarting slightly at his broodiness. Alright, smarting a lot. Why else would I seek the 'company' of his royal Dick-ness?

Iron was glowering out to sea, jaw set, hands clasped at the base of his rigid spine.

'Agent Iron,' I said briskly, obviously inspired by his martial pose. 'What's the brief?'

'Await Book-End. Proceed to the third instalment of estimated thirteen-part fantasy saga.'

'And the plan of action on Rand129?'

'Keep him the hell away from Cauthon,' Iron intoned. 'Both will have to come with us. We can't allow a potential PageRunner or rabid FanFilth to go AWOL.' He was clearly cross. Nothing new about that. He was also clearly cross at me. Nothing new there either.

I sighed. 'Don't be too hard on them - Mat's none the worse for wear. And Rand129 has been very….'

As one we glanced at the redhead weeping over the restraints crissing his midsection; some distance away, Mat was presenting Seiera with a sprig of flowers.

'You know my opinion on this matter, Agent Belle. FanFiction creatures are useless at best. Downright deadly at worst.'

'They're not so dangerous—'

'You were nearly killed,' Iron roared. For a stunned heartbeat his eyes, dark and dangerous, pinned mine before jerking back to the horizon.

'I'm sorry,' I muttered.

And even sorrier to realise I meant it as I sloped away.

What had started out as a blinder of a day had turned into a steaming turd. And most of it was my fault.

'Agent Belle?' I turned to find 'Sue-2 gazing at me. There was a spray of eyebright blossom tucked behind one perfectly pink ear. 'I think there's something you should see.'

I followed her artfully tipped finger to a white light on the horizon.

'It's just the end of the book, Seiera. It will scoop us up soon enough.'

'You called me Seiera.' For some fool reason the girl's eyes were wet.

The light was surging faster, swallowing the midnight sky and tarry sea, making a halo around Cal's bowed head as he restrained a struggling Cauthon by the collar.

'Nooo!' Mat was wailing. 'Not that bloody light again! Look, a Trollo-ow, my arm! Let me go – I don't want to leeeeave.'

Rand129 predictably brought up the rear, hopping in his knots and looking miserable.

Yes, one steaming, trodden-in turd of a day.

A familiar scent – oiled blades and leather - told me Iron was at my side.

'Ready Agent Belle?'

'Right when you are, _Dick_.'

Then the light consumed me whole, tears and all.


End file.
